


Sweet nothingness is always blessed

by SaintSaens



Category: Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe
Genre: Angst, Author Is Not Religious, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mostly Gen, Other, Religious Content, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintSaens/pseuds/SaintSaens
Summary: Mephistopheles dwells on, after Faustus' soul is gone.They wish, sometimes, that they would not.This, or what else my Faustus shall desire, / Shall be perform'd in twinkling of an eye.Or : pointless Mephistopheles' emotional whump.
Relationships: Good Angel & Mephistopheles, John Faustus/Mephistopheles, Lucifer/Mephistopheles
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Sweet nothingness is always blessed

The scream. 

That scream. 

The icicles of fear tearing voices, the acidic burn of understanding in the last words uttered on Earth. 

That's what always got to Mephistopheles. 

_—O Mephistopheles!_

The devil closes their eyes, deliberate in the act. 

Why should _their_ name always be pleaded, at last. 

They were nothing. They did not matter. They were but a corporal impersonation of what the souls wished for. They were a vessel on that wretched Earth, for Lucifer. For Justice. 

For Repentance. 

They shouldn't matter. 

And Mephistopheles should let go, too. They know. They should shrug the body off, with its blood and its heart, feelings and memories, its corporeality. They should enjoy the small slice of nothing, sweet nothing, that always follows a good soul to The Devil. 

It's their deal.  
That's why Mephistopheles keeps on doing it.  
It's pain and suffering and tears, but they always keep on doing it.

They never learn. Because the slight chance of that nothingness is always too tempting, too desired, too close, dangled for laughs by the Master. Never to be renounced by the servant. 

Mephistopheles can never say no. Lucifer knows. 

They wonder, if that's why they are written down, in the books, why they are always called on by the greedy Souls. A devil who will never say no.

(Mephistopheles feels still, the pain that saying _I will not_ to their dear Faustus had caused in their material being. But Hell is always there, watching. And it's so easy to wade off curious minds, show them a trick and a smile, turn them away from the gaping hole of Godliness. Easier than it is to plead your part for answering truths instead of lies, to the Devil at that...)

A bite out of Lucifer's greedy fingers, and then away from the Devil' sight for a limited time, that's how it started. A bite. And now they are addicted. 

Mephistopheles will do whatever they can, however they may. If it means at the end that they can get away. 

And with the laugh of Lucifer ringing beneath their feet, the devil hears the bone-deep marrow shrinking from a human body, the shattered cries of Faustus. At last. 

_My Faustus_

The pressure reigning on the tendons in this body, the very human desire that twisted their shape, relenting. At last. 

The bargain is complete. Faustus has been received. 

There is a burnt scratching at the tips of the fingers, and the lungs are restrained for a moment. Mephistopheles sways.

 _O thou bewitching fiend._  
The hurt and distrust in those words. And Mephistopheles had played the part well, as required. They had taunted, and mocked, and jeered, made themselves the Evil Faustus needed. And in the end...  
_O Mephistopheles!_

They sway. _24 Hours_. Mephistopheles hears whispered. 

It's Belzebub, sighing in their ears. _24 Hours_. 

It's always given like a gift. Like a jewel poured in two waiting hands, a promise purred or murmured in two ears. As if it were the greatest honor, to receive this.

Mephistopheles is resigned.  
They do not have long, and it always flies by. 

But there is still Faustus clinging to their mind. 

It's the scream, they like to believe.  
The scream, that makes it hard to step aside. 

Here and now, Mephistopheles feels bitter. 

They never enjoy their time much, when it is given. They always think _not this time, not this time, I will make the best of it. I will feel the sweet nothing of Hell far away underground, busy with some new soul to try_ but it seems they haven't managed to rid themselves of their empathy when they fell down swiftly. 

_My Faustus_ they think.  
They don't want to hear him scream. 

\- - -

What they hear instead, once the greasy buzzing of Hell leaves, once the ears have stopped ringing and their being has found its fill, its form, its truth, it's the tears of long lost siblings, long, lost and lasting. 

The good angel, the sweet and true and careworn angel stands but shy of the burnt dust that shook moments before with the grovelling of Hell's incessant forces. They seem undecided, fluttering. They step back, and forth, unable to let go of the loss of another soul to the Devil. 

Mephistopheles is lost, too. Not in the grievance of the angel but in their shimmering of light, of warmth, of love. And in Faustus' absence. 

Faustus was deceived. How could he ever believe that Heaven wasn't great. How could he ever disdain such a place. When he knew well how Mephistopheles, who had seen it, who could not speak of it, who suffered away from it, was still in longing. 

Faustus was deceived, from his own initiative. 

And Mephistopheles could only watch and follow in his will. Because he was his for the time being, because he swore he would. Because that was the deal and Faustus never really wondered about it. 

_Mephistopheles shall do for him, and bring him whatsoever he desires._

And they had. Mephistopheles had. They had done it all. They had even played it true, in the end, taken on that burden of Evil, just so Faustus could go, as free as possible from the self-hatred and the pain that leads souls to Hell. 

The pain they know so well.

They would have done more too. To be hated and despised, seen as twisted and traitorous by their Faustus. To be the relief, to take ownership of those misdeeds. Just so he didn't have to blame himself, to feel responsible for his own end. 

Mephistopheles never knows, if these schemes succeed or not, if they are useful for the souls they lost. The devil can only hope, in between their thoughts, that it gave them something to rely on. A name to curse for the end of times to come. 

They would have done more. They had tried. To say as much as they could, never plain, never full, to help their Faustus, never to have him go to Hell. But Faustus was so lost in his greed and disdain and hatred that he never thought to dig further, to manipulate words to get his devil to speak of Heaven. They had but skimmed the surface of the Truth. And every time Mephistopheles was ready. They hoped to make him see. But Faustus, bright and intelligent Faustus, blinded by power and tricks... He never caught any of those meanings. 

He never wondered, either. How nor why his devil never really tried to push him to misdeeds. He had vowed so many things, at the beginning. Only to get circumvented in petty shows and wonders. And yet, he never wondered. 

Mephistopheles was never one with much dedication for corruption. He never pushed, although he would nudge. For small matters and forgettable manners.Mephistopheles never really tried. They would laugh, if it weren't so sad. They had showed what Faustus could have easily had, if he had only cared to try as a human. Nothing more really. Nothing less. It was all frivolous antics, at their core. 

From the great Doctor Faustus, Mephistopheles had hoped for more. 

But souls are set, Mephistopheles think, to never learn. 

They would know.  
They are of that creed. 

And it's when they are close to their siblings, that they can feel it clear. 

\- - - 

They close their eyes again, and breathe, with all the freedom given to them. Breathe in the shine and the crystalline wonder of an Angel, even if it burns their being to its core. 

"How long was it this time?" Asks the Good Angel. 

And Mephistopheles sights, at the carrion of smiles that pierces their heart. They would drown in those voices if only they were given the chance. They would run across the Earth and the entire Universe, just to feel the subtle shiver of the wind at their whisper. 

Mephistopheles is no fool, although Lucifer does like to play them.  
They know why Lucifer likes them best, to deal with souls up there. Because they never really try. Because they emphasize. Because they feel, and tear, like the soul they are sent to lead. 

Because corrupted souls are set. And they never learn. 

"24 years" Mephistopheles whispers. 

"Is that all?" the tears are ringing, echoing as dry as sunshine on fields of sweet rice. 

Mephistopheles wants to laugh. "Isn't that enough?"

They are bitter, and their teeth are tearing at their tongue, because as much as they want to stop loosing time, that poor human-wise value, they can never get enough, of the pain, of the hurt. Of letting it pool up until it drips out in roaring waves, unto the poor Angel that is close. 

They will never learn. 

"How long did you get?" 

The angel hovers close, and Mephistopheles feels their entire existence keen at the proximity. A constrained, and neglectful piece of Heaven at their back. 

"24 hours" they smile. 

They know, they know, that it doesn't compare. That it's a fool's errand and that they will never be cured of that illness. But they will try, always, because they never learn and they are set in their way. 

Because they know, what's on the other side. And they could never have had enough of that. 

"Why?" The angel cries, and the voices are an organ, shattering the grief and plundering through Mephistopheles' heart and feelings, their guts twisting. They can't answer that, it would be ridiculous, they both know the truth of it all. 

Mephistopheles misses Heaven. And they will do what it takes, to get their pathetic fill of verisimilitude, of likeness, of cheap Paradise. As much as they can.

"Was it worth it?" The Angel keeps on crying, and it's thunder in Mephistopheles' ears and their eyes are torn from their inside at the starkness of the deeds achieved and their consequences. It never really is, they think. But it's too much to admit.

"Yes. A thousand times.Yes" they answer, instead.

Who would judge them, they are a devil and a lie is never much to give. It's a sad try, at making another believe what they never could truthfully think. Because, there is deep down, the hope that if they say it times enough, if the others start to agree to it, maybe, maybe, Mephistopheles will end up believing it truly. 

The warmth is close, and they feel the peace and quiet unfold around their material corpse. The angel will hold them, they know. Their siblings are too sensible. 

"Was it worth the price you had to pay and will have to keep on paying?" They say instead, they tear.Mephistopheles wants to crumble in their embrace, at their closeness. Because they could never be deceived, they have seen too much of it, and Mephistopheles is a fool for even trying. 

And it's a deep wound in a being that is never meant to be appeased.  
And Mephistopheles knows, also, that they are not the only one hearing it. They want to shout at Lucifer to leave them be, entirely, like the Devil had promised. But they are cursed, and there is no escaping it. Because were they are, Hell follows swift. And Lucifer is always lurking. 

And if they cannot fool anyone, they will pretend. Because it's easier to lie than to honestly say it out loud. That it's never enough. That it's always lacking. That they are lost and always will be. That it is pointless trying. 

"It was" they rasps out, weak and down. 

The Angel closes their thousands arms and wings and all that the poor humans can never describe nor hope to witness and sing " How long, can you keep on giving like this? How long, until you shatter and never come together again? Stop this madness, dear, you do not deserve it. The pain it brings, it's not worth it." 

"It is. It always will be." Mephistopheles wills it "For my sanity."

"Lucifer will keep on pushing, you cannot -"

"I can and I will!" screams Mephistopheles. " I will. There is no other way for it. I will or I will destroy myself trying!"

And in between the tears and the disease of self-hatred and shame and despair, under the broken laughter of Lucifer, Mephistopheles kneels, at the mercy of the Master and their desires. 

At the mercy of the Angel. 

"Please, please" Mephistopheles whispers, soft and dry "let me, with what little I was given. Let me rest. For a while. Let me rest here, with you by my side." 

The angel doesn't answer. 

They know, after so long spent scourging the earth. They all know, of this lost angel, the one of many, the devil which deals souls, reluctant and despaired. The one that Lucifer always sends, to do their biding, to feel their pain and enlarge their suffering. 

Far from the grips of Heaven and yet so close every time.  
Far from the pits where God is called by thousands, far from the material pain of just punishment and into the realm of internal sorrow and eternal regrets. 

Where there is a trace of goodness and the lingering touches of hope at every corner. 

Where the devil can resent and cry at the way souls are sold. For so little. Them, who know the greatness and bliss of God's touch, who rage at their own mistakes, at the ones they witness, who see guilt and shame everywhere. Who cannot be cured of their illness. 

Them, who always look for a touch of Heaven, even in Hell. 

So the Angel gives in, and crouches bt Mephistopheles' side. Because mercy is a well that is filled with Angel's tears. And God knows how much the Angels cry for their lost siblings.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ! I hope you enjoyed it ! 
> 
> Work inspired by these lines from the 4° of 1616: 
> 
> Line 240 
> 
> MEPHISTOPHILIS  
> This, or what else my Faustus shall desire,  
> Shall be perform'd in twinkling of an eye.
> 
> Line 250
> 
> FAUSTUS  
> O thou bewitching fiend, 'twas thy temptation  
> Hath robb'd me of eternal happiness!
> 
> MEPHISTOPHILIS  
> I do confess it, Faustus, and rejoice:  
> 'Twas I that, when thou wert i'the way to heaven,  
> Damm'd up thy passage; when thou took'st the book  
> To view the Scriptures, then I turn'd the leaves,  
> And led thine eye.
> 
> \- - -  
> If anyone feels like venting for Faustus and Mephistophilis (or many else), you're welcome to pop by my Tumblr :  
> https://saintsaensreads.tumblr.com/


End file.
